


What Lies Beneath

by thienaultha



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 17:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12635544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thienaultha/pseuds/thienaultha
Summary: A noble in exile tries to find his way home.





	What Lies Beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EzraTheBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzraTheBlue/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 7th Night Fic Exchange.
> 
> Request was for a Fair Folk AU. It isn't a fair folk story in the traditional sense, but a lot of the lore and other references is still there.

Hazel of Salmon’s Run craved the golden fruit from the land of the People Beneath the Hills, but he was not beneath the hills, and had still not found a way in, and so instead he sufficed with the apple tree he spotted from the road.

Apples were hard and tasted dull, not quite near the taste he desired, but he had to make do, for all he had left in his bag was a small ration of dried lamb.

Dropping his travel bag at the foot of the tree, he climbed the first branch with ease, balancing himself as he used his embroidered cloak as a basket to hold the fruit. The act brought back memories of afternoons in the groves of nut trees on the lands of his home.

A passing red fox found Hazel as he just slid down from the thick branches, satisfied with his harvest. Hazel didn’t mind foxes, as they usually kept to their own, but this one spoke to him.

"Fine morning, good neighbor!" The fox approached him, its smile revealing too much teeth. "What a peculiar way to find you."

Hazel didn’t move from beneath the shade of the tree. The smile didn’t look friendly. "Hello, fox, is there something you need?"

The creature came up to him, the dappled sunlight making its fur shine. He saw the glint of recognition in its eyes. 

Hazel may have had a human’s disguise, but the fox sensed more than just the fact that Hazel was someone from beneath the hills.

"Not particularly," the fox replied. "It’s a shame you hide your beauty behind such a guise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your kind in their true form."

"It’s for your own good, fox, for it would surely kill you."

The fox barked out a laugh, tossing its head back in its glee. Afterwards, it looked at him, observed quietly, but the trickster gleam in its golden eyes remained. "Shouldn’t you be elsewhere, Your Highness?"

Hazel’s shoulders stiffened, and he frowned at the way the title was spoken. Hazel didn’t like being the subject of games.

"I should. But you know I’m not here for excursions. You know better," Hazel chided. "Your rudeness is dreadful." He wanted nothing more than for the fox to be gone and to sit and eat apples alone.

"I apologize. It was wrong of me, Your Homelessness--" the fox was cut short as Hazel landed a kick straight into the animal’s chest. It yelped at the impact, stumbling back several feet. A few apples fell from Hazel’s cloak.

"Go on! Get out of here, before I make your tongue rot in your mouth!"

The fox picked itself up from the ground and bounded away through the grass, cackling as it ran. "Homelessness, homelessness!" it cried as it disappeared into the woods.

Hazel stood beneath the tree for a few moments more as a mild breeze passed through, rustling the leaves, its cold brush uplifting.

He placed the apples in his bag, and with no aim save for the draw to the entrances of the Land Beneath the Hills, continued on down the winding road.

 

\---

 

By late afternoon, Hazel made it to a fishing and trading town that overlooked an emerald sea. Boats clustered around the harbor, casting off or coming in while the gulls wheeled overhead.

Wind gusted through the town square, cold and salty. Stringed decorations fluttered, tied off and draping over the streets in bright hues. The square was still busy this trade day, vendor stalls and tents crowding the area. Hazel felt fine at first, browsing goods, but as he wandered further into town looking to fill supplies, a feeling, like ringing in the ear or an itch on the neck, crept upon him. 

Hazel remained wary, and continued his search for supplies, stepping out of a store bordering an alleyway at the corner of the main street. He counted the pebbles in his bag, feeling them with his hand. He was low on funds, and most of his gold had truly been glamoured rocks, but most humans wouldn’t know the difference.

Someone grabbed his arm, so suddenly it hurt. An iron dagger pointed to his gut, three men surrounded him. The other two had weapons of their own, but what caught Hazel’s attention the most, besides the knife threatening him, was the stone pendant hanging around the neck of his main attacker. Smooth and circular, the middle was hollow.

Hazel frowned. What he had been feeling was the prying eyes of a human seeing through his glamour.

"That’s a fine pendant. I bet some poor cleric misses it."

The blade moved closer and Hazel took a step away from it. There was no visual difference between plain iron and the enchanted iron or steel that would burn his flesh, and so naturally, all people of the Hills avoided it. 

They pulled him further into the alley. "Shut it and hand over your treasure." 

"Now, it doesn’t pay to be rude," Hazel said. He would have been glad to hand over the rocks in his pocket, but with an eye of truth, that ruse wouldn’t last more than a minute. "Besides, I have nothing for you."

The first man, breathing heavily, jabbed at his ear cuffs. "Then we’ll just have your fancy jewelry."

The swords of the others closed in on him. "Oh, no, I’m afraid not." Hazel smiled. "I just couldn’t bear to part with it."

One of the thieves thrust his sword forward, but Hazel spun out of the way, the metal clanging against the wall behind him. He dodged another strike from the blade, and planted both feet on the ground. In one swift movement from Hazel’s arm, the air formed a hurricane’s gale, stirring dust and knocking all three men down and sending them rolling as it blew through the alley.

Hazel leapt over their sprawled bodies, out of the dusty alley and smacked himself on the corner of a small cart passing by. He gasped in pain. The force of impact pushed the cart and merchandise spilled out. 

Hazel looked to the driver, and had to keep looking, for he was abnormally tall. Tall and broad, dark hair loosely tied back. His skin was a tawny brown, with a long, old scar coming down across his face. A handsome face, Hazel thought.

The man seemed shocked more than anything. A few bystanders echoed his surprise. Hazel stumbled around the back of the cart. He recognized the other’s attire, the style of the people south across the rivers and sea. The long blue coat came to the man's knees, tied with a plain sash at his hip, and his leggings and shoes were leather. Hazel spoke the few words he knew of the man's language, issuing an apology, then continued in the common trade language that he gratefully found to still be in use. 

"I’m sorry, I was being attacked—" 

Commotion erupted from the alley and Hazel ducked behind the cart, cursing being in the middle of a human settlement. Killing them out in the woods would be easier. The thieves came running out from the still-settling dust, and in their semi-blindness, ran into the path of the cart, knocking them back so that they fell, clutching haphazardly at each other. 

Hazel prepared to fight once more, but the driver, seeming to assess the situation, gave a single nod and said, "Go." 

"I’ll return the favor, you have my word." Hazel thanked him as he moved to escape. Not returning favors was something he could never do - the Curse of his obligations still hung over him. He didn’t linger to hear a reply, and hurried to the docks on the lower level of the town, beneath the cliffs.

 

\---

 

Having loaded all his things into the cargo hold, Gat rested against the wooden taffrail, glad for the respite. Traveling by sea saved more time and energy than trying to move all the goods by land, an exasperating project for one man.

He tied his hair back tighter to let the refreshing sea breeze cool the back of his neck, a welcome change from the heat of the afternoon sun. Alone on this side of the deck, he recounted the day’s events and earnings, and, suddenly remembering, reached into his pouch. The troublemakers from the alley skittered away when he approached them, though still searching for their victim even as they ran. As he had gathered his spilled items, he had found the hollow stone. It must have fallen from one of the thieves, he guessed, and slipped it into his pocket, since they didn’t seem to be missing it.

Gat looked at it again now more closely, the small object even smaller in his large hands. He ran his fingers along the smooth, grey ring. It had no cracks or chips, the hole sitting off center. Adder stones were a rare find, washing up at beaches or at the banks of rivers. Just for fun, he brought it up to his eye and peered down the railing through the opening.

A cloaked figure sat on the railing, gazing out across the water. Immediately, Gat lowered his arm—the figure was gone now, and for one second he debated whether to give the stone away or toss it, before looking through it again.

Studying the figure, Gat realized it was the man that ran into his cart, except his ears were long and pointed, covered in silver jewelry, a stunning complement to the rosy beige of his skin and the bright white hair that framed his face.

The man turned his head, and that was all the time Gat had because the man was coming toward him now. Gat shifted his gaze up from the stone, the pointed ears were again human, the elaborate floral jewelry fitting the rounded shape perfectly. 

Gat’s hand was pushed down onto the railing, the stone in his fist. "Where did you get that?"

"…I found it on the road." Weren’t his clothes a different hue just before now? Gat looked back up to see the other’s face, thin eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed thin. His hair seemed more blond now, than such a shocking white.

"May I see it?"

Gat relinquished the stone, and it was immediately thrown into the sea. Well, it saved Gat the trouble.

"It’s the merfolk’s plaything now.” He turned. “Looking at someone without them knowing, that’s pretty rude."

"Sorry. I didn’t expect to see anything."

"You’re lucky that I’m of the kind sort, there are others who would be less forgiving."

They stood, the only sounds around them the sails catching wind and the flap of the cloak—Gat still thought it had been a deep blue or green or even gray, not the drab brown it was now. The wind blustered around them. 

"So then," the man from Beneath the Hills said, after some time. "What would you like?"

"What do you mean?" It must have been the wrong question to ask. He rolled his eyes, perfect eyebrows raised. Everything about this man was lithe and immaculate. 

"Are you so forgetful? I said I would repay you.” He put his hands on his hips. “What do you wish? It can’t be anything too extravagant, unfortunately. Whatever it is you decide."

Oh. Gat honestly didn’t expect to see him again, and he didn’t think much of his words of thanks at the time. "I’m fine."

"You have to have something. Humans always do."

"Not really." Gat had incredulous eyes staring him down. "I don’t need anything. Thank you, though."

"This is out of obligation, not niceties." He rubbed his temples. "Well—" he waved his hand around, rested on the railing with one elbow, "I’ll decide for you—since you won’t. Don’t look at me like that."

He tapped a finger to his chin, eyes to the sky, thinking. "You seem like a practical man, too practical, maybe. Is it acceptable if I load all your merchandise once we disembark? I can cut the time to nothing."

Gat glanced over the sea, and then to the cabin to his other side. Adamant, this man. He tried to remember anything he heard about the people beneath the hills. They made themselves scarce lifetimes ago. "…All right." It would be helpful, as he had collected a large bulk of merchandise, and if it would appease him… "What’s your name?"

"Is that important?"

"I’d like something to call you."

He watched the smile creep across the other’s lips. "Hazel. What’s yours?"

"Gat."

"Ah, Hazel, Gat—so simple, so un-telling! I like it." Hazel appraised him for a moment, then turned toward the cabin. "I will find you when we reach River’s End."

Hazel disappeared, and Gat was left leaning back onto the railing, surprised by what had transpired.

 

\----

 

Gat didn’t see Hazel again until they arrived at their destination. Where he had gone aboard the ship was a mystery, but he showed himself again when they were readying the gangplanks. As the merchandise was unloaded from the hold, Hazel loaded it onto another cart with a kick of his foot. Large boxes and barrels that would have taken two men to lift were swept up with ease, carried by Hazel’s deft manipulation of the wind.

Gat returned with the last of his things, and he admired Hazel’s work, everything packed well together, stacked securely. "That was quick, thank you."

Hazel bowed, glad to have fulfilled his side of the exchange. He never liked to be in debt to anyone. "It was a fun time, Gat, but I must take my leave."

Gat wedged the pack into the cart. "Then I’ll see you again sometime."

Hazel tilted his head at the farewell, but took it in stride, giving one more bow before he slipped away.

 

\------

 

Hazel stood at the edge of the land, listening to the water lapping at the grassy bank. The old trading post was not far from the city, hard to find by normal eyes, but very much still there, worn mossy stone under the shade of the low branches of old trees, where long, curly moss hung like the beards of old men.

Pushing aside the overgrown reeds and grasses, he stood in front of the ruin. It was not something he could use to transport himself, it was more likely a nearby cave would take him back to the Land Beneath the Hills, but the post was a marker. Long, long ago, his people existed on the land just as the humans, they traded, like all the cultures of this land did. Even when they ventured beneath the earth and into the mountains to stay, they continued trade, at least for a time. But even that time was before Hazel's own. He felt nothing from the structure, but could read the marker, and the curling carvings in the rocks, images of birds faded from time. 

Only a few meters to the northeast, he presumed, he would find an old cave entrance. He would still try, even though he'd tried many times before, to open the Doors that were scattered across the land like casually tossed stones. 

There had been a Door before he came across the sea, but the cave had collapsed with no way to proceed.

He needed to return home.

He searched for the cave entrance, hoping it had not met the same fate. Groves of trees obscured the view, flowering weeds swayed with the grass, dandelion seeds were kicked into the air as he went. The cave entrance was disguised amongst the vegetation and natural formation of the rock wall. Ripping the vines from the rocks, he discovered more of the ancient carvings, and upon looking up, the lip of the entrance had been shaped into flowing designs. Birds and other mammals decorated it, pointing inward into the darkness.

Hazel stepped into the opening, staring further into the dark. He stood there for a spell, the air so still the rock felt cloistering. He walked into the darkness, able to feel the magic the Doors possessed, but soon he was facing the mouth of the cave, and the dawn greeted him.

Nothing happened. He felt nothing. No magic, no tremble in the air, nothing but the smell of old earth beneath his feet. He laughed, and though quiet and breathy, it was loud in the face of the cavern.

It wasn’t the first time. Magic had a trick to it, and Hazel’s obstacle was that he was personally being barred entry. But he needed to return, trusting no one with the handling of his guardian’s burial, he needed to see how they honored him. He needed to return, so he could rip the murderer apart and reclaim his land.

Using Hazel’s obligations and conditions against him, his own personal Curse, Hazel had been deceived, but it had been too late. He was dumped out onto the surface as soon as he lost. Exiled.

It was no use to stay here, so he turned and trudged through the brush back to town, plucking a few blooms from their stems. The river bubbled over the rocks in its bed and bank, and the sound made him think of the merfolk. Every so often he would glance over and hope to see one of them, a glimpse of their iridescent scales and olive-toned skin along the bank, or out on the rocks jutting from the body of the river. He liked talking to them, and they entertained each other with conversation and song, as they were familiar, similar beings.

But there were none that morning, and he continued on, back to the town of River’s End.

 

\----

 

Gat didn’t mind lots of things. He didn’t mind making his business in trade, he didn’t mind extensive traveling, he didn’t mind people—such a not-minder that he’d been called a little strange. Some things were easier for him than others, like repairing roofs and heavy lifting, and his grandmother and uncle would always remind him not to be taken advantage of in that regard. He didn’t. So easygoing and quiet, standing abnormally tall, he could even see why he was thought of that way.

That was fine to him, for there were things he knew he did mind. He was sure of himself.

Stuck at a halfway point between towns, not being able to reach the next by nightfall, he’d set up a small camp off the road, shielded by thin trees from the woods on one side. He only had a packhorse now, having distributed his collection from the northern country, save for a several bolts of fabric, all requests from various townspeople. He wasn’t concerned, as he still had plenty of food, but he needed wood for his fire.

He didn’t stray far, plucking dried branches and twigs from the ground. Just ahead, the ground dipped and water had collected there, creating pools of clear standing water amongst the trees. It was typical for spring and summer, but it was still beautiful.

Firewood tucked under his arm, he turned to head back, but the water splashed behind him and he whirled around, his free hand near the knife on his hip.

He thought his eyes were deceiving him. It was Hazel. He may have greeted him if not for the dagger in Hazel’s hand, something he did mind, but Hazel had the same look of disbelief he had. 

Gat didn’t move. Hazel held up his hands in peace.

He glanced around them. He didn’t expect to see Hazel again _this_ soon. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for something." Hazel paused to glance behind him. "But a band of brigands decided to cause some trouble."

Gat could see leftover blood on Hazel’s thin blade. Hazel lowered his hands, instead making gestures, stepping closer to Gat. He spoke low and with haste. "I’d suggest heading back."

Anything would be better than standing and conversing like they were. "We’ll have to hurry," Gat said, but Hazel had already grabbed his arm and was pulling him toward a raised stand of trees. 

"Too late—someone’s coming," Hazel whispered. He moved them into the shadows cast by the tall cypresses, and pulled Gat close. Hazel had a strong grip, tight around Gat’s wrist. He puzzled over how Hazel was be able to predict their whereabouts, until he remembered the few seconds he glimpsed of Hazel’s true form, and his long, pointed ears. 

"Stay still, don’t make a sound," Hazel instructed, standing close and not letting go. Gat, feeling ridiculous, obeyed.

A minute later, one of the bandits came through the area, deciphering their tracks through the damp earth. He stopped at the large standing area of water, so shallow the grass and debris could be seen through it.

The bandit circled slowly, eyeing his surroundings. His line of sight passed directly over Hazel, and Gat tensed. The bandit lingered there for a few minutes, and then moved again, leaving the area. They waited a few more minutes, and Hazel ended their silence.

"We should go now, before more follow." Hazel pushed Gat down from the bluff. 

"What did you do?" Gat asked, still thinking of how the man looked straight at them, but didn't see them.

"I made us blend in with our surroundings," he said it like he was explaining how to make children's crafts. "I usually can't go much farther over my own height, you're lucky I managed to cover both of us, with how large you are."

Gat said nothing.

Gat's thoughts went to his camp. "Let’s head back."

"I'll stick around," Hazel said. "Leaving a man alone in the woods with bandits is not something I can do."

Gat looked back at him. Hazel shrugged, put his hands on his hips. "We're wasting time here."

Gat wordlessly trudged back, Hazel following close behind. Gat decided to move further up the road a few miles.

"Hopefully they won't come looking for you." Gat thought of the town ahead. He would have to let them know, for the sake of their own hunters as well.

"I did kill a few of them," Hazel admitted, having cleaned his dagger and sheathed it somewhere hidden, for Gat didn't see it on his person.

Gat made a noise, and quickened their pace.

Dusk approached as they sat beneath the branches of a tree. Gat made a quick fire and shelter using the brush and branches.

"We're far from that place now, but just in case--" Hazel reached into his bag and pulled out an even smaller bag, made of a soft, dark material. He loosened the drawstrings and turned it over so that four uncut jewels lay in his hand. Gat leaned in for a closer look. They were opals, the rainbows of color muted.

He dropped them on the ground around an apple he'd laid in the grass. When the jewels settled, the area between them, the apple, obscured and disappeared from sight, leaving just the grass and leaves.

It was an impressive feat. Gat could only stare as Hazel moved the rocks around, showing their ability. 

Hazel placed one in front of them, one behind, the others to the sides. "We're hidden now. If they did come looking for us, they shouldn't find us, unless they trip over us." Hazel laughed a little, a pleasant sound.

Gat looked around them. Nothing seemed to change from their perspective. He didn't know how such things worked, never delving into the subject and leaving it well alone. "Where did you get those?"

"They were given to me, by my teacher." His eyes held a far-away look, a wistful smile crossed his lips. He laughed once. "For when people would seek me out when I had no desire to speak to them."

Gat wondered what sort of life Hazel lived. "They’re pretty."

"Yes, they are."

"You said you were looking for something?" Gat asked. It was an amazing coincidence to find each other. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon." 

Hazel nodded, held out a second apple to Gat, and he took it carefully. "Did you find it?"

"Almost, but those brigands were too much in the way. In the end I turned back, more trouble that it was worth. Probably." Hazel took a bite of his apple and the crisp crack of the fruit breaking filled the pause between them.

"I'm sorry, then."

Hazel shrugged, chewed. "There are other ways back into the Land Beneath the Hills."

Gat looked at Hazel then, truly. He had the features of a human still, his clothes were of simple cut and design, save the embroidery on his cloak. The blue of his tunic blended in with the night, unlike the blue of his eyes, clear and sharp. Gat didn't know what someone from Beneath the Hills would be doing out above them. It was the first time Gat had seen one of them. Gat thought he was beautiful, but he dared not say it. 

Gat hadn't taken a bite from the apple yet, looking away from Hazel's long silver lashes. "You're the first of them I've seen. There are stories, the remnants of buildings,.." Gat trailed off, trying to think of the way to word his sentences.

"It's true, we did dwell on the earth the same way you humans do, but that was long ago, before my time, even. It's just a bedtime song to most humans now. What's left of that time, probably only the bards and storytellers know." Hazel smiled, resting his head in the palm of his free hand. "But venturing out isn't unheard of. Mostly to convene with other beings, like the merfolk, or to fulfill the requests of humans who dare to ask."

Hazel was looking at him strangely, his expression neutral, but still with that smile. "Are you not hungry?"

Gat realized he hadn't done anything with the apple, while Hazel had made it through most of his. He turned the red fruit in his hand, watching the light gleam on the shiny skin and tried to remember anything he could about the folk beneath the hills. In truth, he wasn't very hungry, but it would be rude to not eat it. "I'm fine," Gat said instead, and took a bite.

Gat didn’t sleep well, dozing most of the night, but dawn came with no conflict, and he took up the road again, Hazel joining him.

Hazel still followed him, up to the entrance of the town’s palisades. There they stopped and Gat turned. "I appreciate you accompanying me this far. Would you like to stay for the night?" They had walked for two days, it would be good for the both of them to have some time to relax. 

Hazel placed a hand to his chin, mulling it over. "Well, now, let me see..."

"...As compensation for your help?" Gat said. "Since that seems to be something you're passionate about." He smiled.

Hazel eyed him, calm and critical, his pursed lips turning into a smile. "I suppose that can be arranged."

\----

The house was one of four on a single family's lot, long and rectangular. Gat spent the rest of the evening relaxing and preparing meals. Hazel had wandered off, his bag close to him. He made dumplings with his corn, after a visit by his hosts. Hazel returned not long after, and Gat had already finished preparing the food.

He reached for his bag as soon as he hit the threshold and Gat greeted him, offering the plate of dumplings, their dark bluish hue still visible in the firelight. Hazel showed off a stack of corn cakes before settling down on the matted floor.

"You have a sweet tooth, then," Gat stifled his chuckle as Hazel nodded, his mouth stuffed with cake. Gat reached for his own food. "Have you been to this area before?" 

"Not this particular region." Hazel took a drink of water. "But I've been to many places." 

Gat stared into the hearth. "How long have you been traveling?"

"For a time." 

The vague statement raised his curiosity.

"When do you go back to the Land Beneath the Hills?"

"Whenever I decide." Hazel said, glancing down at the floor. His response was slower than Gat expected. "And what of you?"

"I like traveling, but I can go home when I’d like." He said he could, and he truly could, but the thought made him feel uneasy.

"That’s nice." Hazel’s voice had become light, nonchalant. A moment’s silence passed, and Hazel spoke again. "For a merchant, you’re not very talkative."

Gat didn’t look at him, instead poking at the fire. "It’s not the same thing—talking to trade, and just talking."

Hazel made a thoughtful sound. "Do you always travel alone?"

"No." 

"Do you get lonely?"

Gat turned back to him, an eyebrow raised. Hazel had leaned forward, closer, his features sharpened by the fire’s light. His eyes held Gat there. Suddenly Hazel shifted his gaze away, leaned back, self-aware.

"Do you?" Gat asked.

Hazel put a fat dumpling in his mouth instead, shrugged him off with vague noises, reaching for his bag. He set a square of bound leather in his lap. It was like a book, with many pages within the leather coverings.

Inside were dried flowers, so many that he thought there wasn’t enough room for the new plants Hazel had at his side. Some had drawings next to them, but Gat didn’t know what they meant.

"What’s that?" Gat asked him.

"A hobby." 

"That’s a lot of flowers."

"As I’ve said, I’ve been many places." He leafed through the pages. There were flowers and plants Gat hadn’t seen before, it was such a massive collection. His bag was only so large. He didn’t think Hazel had another book of its kind.

"What happens when the pages run out?"

Hazel didn’t respond at first, flipping between the same several pages before he picked one and ripped the flowers from them. "Weed out the ones I can bear to lose." He tossed them into the fire, where they curled and burned away.

When Gat awoke the next morning, Hazel was gone, a few dried wildflowers left by the hearth.

 

\-----

 

Hazel started early, once the morning sun peeked over the horizon, with the breeze in front of him, traveled alone on the winding trail. His bag was stuffed with food, his head heavy with thought.

It had been nice, spending time with someone, and he did like Gat, in a way he couldn't quite place. He realized it later that night, while Gat slept and Hazel stared into the wood of the ceiling above their heads. The calm manner in which he spoke, and carefully listened. Hazel knew he was careful, his pauses and silence thoughtful and friendly. He decided to leave then, not sure where inside him to place what was happening. Perhaps all the time spent alone and banished was making him soft. He hadn't imagined feeling that way, not even in his home beneath the hills. As long as the people under his jurisdiction approved of him and his home prospered, and he was needed, he was well. And his Teacher--one of the few constants in his life. Hazel remembered a time when he had gone to him in a fit.

He had been fighting with a long-standing family rival, always wanting to expand his territory. Hazel had only two conditions, but as he was the ruling noble of his hold, they were greater than most others. The first, he must always return a favor done for him. The second, to always protect the people of his House. Placed upon him by his disinterested mother, now long dead, they formed him. His life was complicated a lot, but he always observant of his conditions. When he complied, everything usually worked out. The outcomes were in between well enough, often better than the alternative, and sometimes it was truly magnificent.

His teacher lived within the family lands and was almost a constant in the large home, the only other person that stayed there. In truth, Hazel also saw him as his guardian, having helped raise him since he was young.

"I can't stand him any longer, Teacher." He still would call him teacher, even if he was no longer the man's student. "What does he think he has that I don’t?" He threw his hands up in the air. "What does he have to contribute that is better than mine?"

His teacher was always calm, and it both marveled and frustrated him. "I know. It’s been a long feud, and your prosperity makes him jealous." He beckoned Hazel to come closer. The light from the large window where he sat washed him in gold from the setting sun. He held Hazel's hands in his, and squeezed them gently. His hands were soft and wrinkled with old age.

"You're very proud, Hazel, and there are not a lot of people in your life. I want you to know that should anything happen, it is only fate coming to pass. It won’t be the end."

"Teacher, I don’t—" 

"Not many will understand you, but one day there will be someone who takes that time."

Something hot and painful constricted his lungs. He didn't want to think why. "You seem to understand me well enough, and that's all I've needed."

The last he remembered was his teacher’s sad smile. Lost in his memory, he'd stopped walking. He realized he was staring into the dirt, his teacher's words weighing in his heart like iron. It was one of the last conversations they had had. His teacher was right. There weren't many things in his life, but now there was nothing.

The feeling sitting on his chest pushed him, and he did his best to remind himself to continue his attempts to get back in, if only to avenge his wrongdoing. He'd been trying for a long time, but he was certain there was a way around it. He never went to the same path more than once in a certain time. Some paths were less used, maybe forgotten, so there had to be a way. He'd enlisted the help of a wizard once, much to his own chagrin. Human magic had the ability to damage the powers of the people beneath the hills, surely they could break through a barrier. In the end it proved ineffective, and the wizard could only laugh. He presumed there was no barrier, and that meant he couldn't help Hazel at all.

He was only a human, after all. It was foolish of him to ask for help from one.

Hazel pressed forward, a renewed strength to try and find a way back.

 

\----

 

Hazel rested in the thick, broad branches of a large tree. Even higher in the broad, stiff foliage where he was they were strong and grey-brown. The large white flowers blooming around him smelled of citrus, and with the bubble of a nearby brook, it was one of the more relaxing things he'd experienced on his journey. Vastly different from home in the distant, mountainous northeast, but not unwelcoming. He rested his eyes, having perfect shade from the hot midday sun.

The sounds of someone approaching, a horse's heavy walk, forced him to inspect the ground below him. He recognized the traveler immediately and stifled a weary sigh. Whatever sort of Fate decided that he and Gat cross constant paths, it was certainly enjoying itself. He'd left on the most perfect note he thought he could, with the intention of not seeing him again. He could very well ignore him, but he was drawn to him somehow. Hazel damned that, too, for the feeling deep in his chest was hard to ignore. It would linger too long, he thought, if he should leave without speaking to him.

Gat had his back turned and in the time it took Hazel to decide what he wanted to do, he'd settled nearer to the water, occupied with his supplies. Hazel crawled down the tree and crept up behind Gat. The horse's ears swiveled and it stepped away, avoiding him, though Gat didn't pay it any mind. Hazel had cloaked himself from human eye, a trick that only worked if he was still. He traced the white patterns on Gat's blue outer garments with his eyes, then again on the faded yellow bandana around his neck. 

Gat still sat oblivious. Hazel grinned to avoid any noise from his own urge to chuckle.

He reached out and poked Gat in the shoulder. "So!" He began, and Gat jumped, to his feet even and turned. The sight of a man so large lurching away as he did, the expression on his face--Hazel was feeling better already. He stood, hands on his hips. "We meet again." Hazel laughed. "I had to have some fun, I apologize."

The tension slowly left Gat's shoulders as he breathed a long sigh. "Did you find your way back?"

"There isn’t a Door around here, unfortunately." Hazel clapped him on the arm in an attempt to dispel what was left of Gat’s shock.

On the ground was an intricately weaved basket next to a simple setup, and inside were several shells of varying sizes. "Oh? What’s this?" Hazel gestured to it.

"A hobby."

Hazel laughed. "I like you." He knelt and picked up one of the long shells. A few in the basket were blank, but the one in his hand had the beginnings of a picture carved into it: woodlands, with birds and deer. The idea was wonderful.

"It’s not finished," Gat mumbled from above him.

"I like these!" Hazel rose to his feet, the shell still in hand. "It’s a fantastic skill. I can’t do it."

"It does require a lot of patience," Gat agreed, taking it from Hazel’s hands.

They sat down and Hazel watched him work on it, slowly chiseling away to create the illustration. Hazel ate plums he’d gathered a few days before.

The craft wasn’t something he expected to see from such a man as Gat, but what Hazel also didn’t expect was to run into Gat several more times, at varying intervals. Torn between the new pleasant feeling of seeing a familiar face and his frustration of it, he would often greet him, but other times he would find a satisfactory place to sit and cloak himself from human view. In the end, he ended up traveling with him for short amounts of time, and he found himself enjoying it more with each encounter. 

Did Gat enjoy his company? He didn’t seem to mind. They were like breaks between his work, but his mission was always the priority.

 

\-----

 

"You're such a sweetheart, traveling all that way for me."

Gat handed over the bolts of fabric he'd been holding onto since the weeks he'd been in the northern country. Of the same clan and a good friend, Sakila had given him as many goods as she was willing, for him to fetch the fabric she wanted.

"It wasn't too bad, was it?" She swept back a piece of hair that had come loose from its tie, clutching the long bolts close to her skirts. Sakila was small, not even at Gat's shoulder, but she was strong.

"No, it was fine." 

"I hope you kept at least one of those baskets for yourself."

"I did," Gat assured her.

Sakila beamed, dimples forming on her rounded face, and the sight made Gat smile, too.

"That's good." She looked around the grounds. "I heard you came with a new friend, I saw him earlier. I thought he would still be with you." 

Gat supposed friend was a way to put it. Hazel's sporadic company was a change of pace from long stints of grouped and lone travel. "He left already." She looked a little surprised. "He's on a mission of sorts. Our paths just seem to line up frequently." At this point, whether it was intentional or not was still unclear. Hazel was a good actor, if it was.

"That's unfortunate. He seemed like a charming fellow. Though a little strange."

"Yeah." It was a fit observation.

"Not unlike you, huh?" Sakila chuckled and poked at him. Gat felt heat creep up his neck. He was staring down at the ground before he registered he had done it.

"Do you know anything about the people from Beneath the Hills?" He asked her.

She stopped short. "Why?"

"He says he’s of them. He goes into the woods a lot." He felt his voice betrayed him at the end, an inflection of anxiousness in it. It was true, watching him come and go from the wilds, it was starting to make him nervous. He cared about what happened to Hazel, in a way. Creatures and malicious things dwelled where they were least expected.

"Well, me, personally, no. Even so, their affairs are their own. They separated from all of us a long time ago." Sakila sighed. "I wouldn't worry about him. If he wants to wander off into forests unknown, let him. It would be someone like you who would be so concerned over someone like him."

Hazel was entirely different from him, not only in looks but in personality. But when she mentioned his strangeness, he realized that maybe there was a sort of common ground after all. 

Sakila touched his shoulder and he looked down at her, having been lost in thought. "Don’t overwork yourself, Gat. No matter where you go, you'll always have a home. Especially here."

"I know," he said. "This is one of my favorite places to be."

\-----

Wandering through the woodland, Hazel sat against a tree, disoriented. For the first time in quite some time, he was unsure. There wasn't any Door nearby, but the old worn mountains visible in the distance reminded him of home. Sitting in the grass, he thought hard of his struggles. So many days, and not much of any breakthrough. What had he not done, not tried yet? When not even inscriptions worked for him…a cold feeling passed through him. It was a strong magic to expel him as it was. 

He dared himself to think of his teacher again, imagine how he died and not ever seeing how he was taken care of. But with those thoughts came his words, that when conditions collided, Fate was coming.

This couldn't be Fate. He had refused to think of it since his expulsion. So shocked and disgusted with being outcast, he set off to force his way back in.

His people, his land, imagining them in the hands of someone who didn't deserve them, it was abhorrent. He was needed, they would need him, he was sure. And his teacher, would they bury him proper? Toss the body and scrub the blood off of Hazel's floor? It was still his, even if he had not seen it for a time. Because he was going to return.

But--had anyone returned before? It was unknown, most people whose Fate caught them were killed. Or maybe had to pay a penance. But they weren't expelled.

He tried to speak to a clan member he had seen back north, by happenstance in the groves outside one of the large cities, towering above the trees. He pleaded for a conference, but the lady, upon noticing him, gave him such a look of concern that morphed into dismissal. One hand full of goods traded for services to humans--an occurrence Hazel was lucky to come across-- she clutched her russet shawl with her free hand, her bright, golden skirts swaying as she stopped. Her presence was so familiar it had been a comfort, but it was short-lived, as she had said as though shooing an animal, her gaze shifting away from him: "It's not possible to give council to ghosts."

She continued on her way, and Hazel, heat flaring in his heart shouted after her. "How dare you! How can you?" She didn’t look back.

Hazel shook himself back into the present, miles and miles and a sea away, from that memory. It hadn’t been the only time. They were rare moments to see his people, but each time he was ignored. 

Now he was wandering mindlessly in the southern woods and wetlands. He sighed, long and pained. 

He was lonely.

Hazel stood in the cool night shade of the oak tree towering above him, and stepped out, found the road again, unfortunately empty on this stretch. Around the raised land lay lower plains, flooded with the recent heavy rains. He thought of Gat, and now genuinely hoped to maybe find him again. Tired, he could barely criticize himself.

Several low rolling hills later, in the middle of the night, off to the right side of the road was a small camp with a glowing fire. He thought not much of it at first, but recognized the chestnut pony grazing beneath a nearby tree.

Sure enough, Gat was there, fiddling with a shell, still smaller in his large hands. He was genuinely glad to see him.

"Is that a new specimen?" Hazel questioned.

Gat had seen him approach, Hazel saw him looking, but only put the shell down when Hazel stopped at his fire. 

"This one, no," Gat said. A little disappointed, Hazel thought. "It's giving me trouble." He looked up at Hazel. "I'm not that good at it." He placed the shell in a small basket, amongst others of varying size and color. "But I have others I can work with."

Hazel tilted his head, looking into the basket. "You’re a large man with large hands. You may need something more your size?"

Gat’s gaze returned to his lap, though his eyebrows raised slightly. Hazel hadn’t stopped to think the topic may be a sore spot for him until now. "Maybe."

Hazel looked away. "To be fair, I’m not much of a harpist, but it never stopped me from plucking some strings."

Gat said nothing, but tilted his head, that Hazel read as a sign of acknowledgement. 

"Is there room at your fire for another?"

Gat nodded, and Hazel, grateful, swiftly sat himself by the flame, pulling his legs underneath him. 

"I hadn’t seen you for a while. I was almost starting to worry."

Hazel paused in pulling out his meat and bread. "Worry?" The thought made him smile.

"That maybe some creature finally ate you." 

Hazel laughed, catching the way the corners of Gat’s mouth turned in amusement. "Quite unlikely! But I am here now."

They quieted into silence as the fire became glowing embers. Gat had sat back, looking up at the clear night sky. Hazel fiddled with his mirror, pivoting it between his hands, watching the angles in his reflection change and smoothing back a flyaway. 

The company alone was a comfort, easing the stress that had grown in his gut, but it still lingered, crawling further as the silence lengthened. 

Suddenly displeased with his reflection, he turned the mirror away. At the corner of his vision Hazel could see Gat’s legs, and he occupied his sight with the stitching in the seams of his leggings, and down to his shoes. Hazel didn’t know if he could look at his face, asking the question that teetered on the edge of his tongue. "Gat, what do you want in life?"

Gat was quiet for a moment and Hazel watched his legs shift, stretching out into the grass, one over the other. Hazel reached down and tossed a few twigs onto the fire, and with a steady hand, pushed life back into the fire with a puff of air.

Hazel had never asked that question, most certainly not to a human. He wouldn’t even have considered an opinion from them, they were so removed from his life. Until now.

"…A good ending," Gat finally said. "Sorry, it’s a little vague."

Hazel sniffed and pinched his mirror between his fingers. "I should know better than to ask humans questions of importance." He thought of retiring to sleep, ending it there to preserve what pride he had. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it upset him. "You do have a home, don’t you?"

As thoughtful and careful as he’d been before, Gat continued. "Yes."

"Well?"

"It’s farther west of here. It’s not where I was born. That town no longer stands. We joined with another village, my grandmother and I.

“We had two houses until the day she passed away. I left to work not long after, and I had an argument with my neighbors. They were always helpful, but at the time it had become smothering."

Gat paused. "In the end, I suppose I meant reconciliation. Mostly with myself."

"…You just needed your own time." Hazel turned to Gat, but Gat wasn’t looking at him.

"Maybe I should have stayed longer, but it’s all done now. Admittedly, I’ve been away longer than I intended."

"It wasn’t very long ago, was it?"

Gat was nonchalant. "It just seems like I’m on an extended business trip."

Hazel followed Gat’s gaze to the sky. It was open here, compared to home. He could always see stars from the upper windows and farmlands, but there had never been so many filling his vision. There was always something to obscure the view.

"I wanted to be needed," Hazel said, very suddenly. He surprised even himself with his clarity. The words didn’t echo around him as he imagined they would. They were blunt, like being jabbed with a dull weapon. 

"I wanted to be the one everyone came to, the one everyone praised, and I was, certainly. I had what I wanted. I was a just prince with prosperous land and people. The rules were to always return a favor, and to protect the House. But I let myself be deceived, and I was expelled. I intend to return, at least to right the murder of the sole member of my household. It’s been difficult, but I know I can."

It was quiet for several minutes. "…Your behavior makes more sense. I did think it was strange to see you so often." Gat had turned on his side. "Where do you go?"

"To the Doors." Hazel unpinned his cloak and draped it over his legs. "Scattered across the continents are old passages to all our lands, from the golden days of trade. They are how we travel. But so far, I haven’t been able to open them, so I have not even been able go to any distant cousins across the oceans. But there is a way."

Hazel leaned back, feeling the ache of sleep in his eyes. 

"Is that still what you want?"

"Yes," Hazel said. Then why did he ask in the first place? Frowning, he closed his eyes.

\----

Someone was stealing the horse. Its cry woke them. The land was washed in the dim early morning light, and it took a few moments to realize what was happening, waking up to the point of a dagger. They weren’t dead yet, so the thieves were only interested in getting away with what they could. Thoughts raced through Hazel’s head, and in the moment the thief realized he had come to, Hazel blew him away with a shove of his hands, the force of the wind tearing leaves through the air. 

It must have been enough distraction, for when he turned to Gat, he had already engaged another man, overpowering him with his massive strength. Hazel’s opponent, shocked from the blow, had dropped his weapon, and Hazel scrambled for it instead of wasting time disentangling himself from his cloak. He snatched it off the ground and suddenly his hand seared with a burning pain. 

He gasped. It was fire, and he almost feared he wouldn’t be able to let go, the pain was so great, but he did, throwing it as far as he could. The thief took one look at Hazel and turned to run. Hazel let him, and whirled to find Gat on his way to the man that tried to take the horse, the third assailant already out of sight. 

Tears forming in his eyes from the excruciating pain, he stumbled down the hill and thrust his shaking hands into the water, scrubbing at his skin. The pain didn’t stop, but it lessened the longer it was submerged. Gat stumbled his own way down the hill to him, his breathing heavy. "They all ran. Are you all right?"

Hazel tried to find his voice between his gasps. "Are you?"

"Just a few cuts." Gat looked at him concerned, but his eyes widened as Hazel brought his hand out of the water to examine it. "What happened?"

"His blade had a spell on it." His hand blistered red, like he had been burned. "I--I have something in my bag."

Gat climbed back up the hill, while Hazel put his hand back in the water.

"Your human look is gone," Gat said when he returned.

"It was a strong enchantment." Hazel hissed at another wave of pain.

Gat had brought both of their bags, pulled some bandages from Hazel’s and a tin of salve from his. Hazel let Gat touch his hand, helping to work the salve into his skin and carefully wrap it. Hazel returned the favor, cleaning a large cut on Gat’s shoulder with his good hand.

"That’s the first time I’ve had that happen," Gat remarked. He was staring at Hazel’s clothes, the details in his ornate brooch that had been disguised as something much plainer.

"I’ll take the blame, I’ve been sticking my nose too far into the bushes."

"Does it make you think twice about sneaking up on people?"

Hazel nudged him in the shoulder, a playful shove.

"We’re near Black-Water; it’s a popular trade city, which may have some influence."

"We should hurry there. I’d rather that not happen again."

\----

They reached Black-Water by nightfall with the company of another trade group on their way in, Hazel hiding himself within his cloak, still weak from the blade's spell. It was a large town, with many fields and plots with many houses. So much that they had their own guest house off of any townsperson’s land, but it made sense with the wealth of visitors. The town was so large it spread across the river on one side, the other side of the river branching onto a floodplain.

Hazel did nothing but rest for several days. Gat would come and go, and more often than not he found Hazel sleeping beneath the blankets. He would help with the wrappings and sometimes bring pork stews and cornbread, and then Hazel would crawl back beneath the covers and fall asleep.

Over the course of the week Gat’s cuts healed and Hazel returned to the world, mending Gat’s clothes and decorating their house with drying flowers he’d collected nearby, hanging in bouquets from precarious places. 

Gat busied himself with his trade and craft, and visited around to others in the yards and town square. Every time he returned, Hazel was still there. Surprised Hazel had not disappeared when he started feeling better, he questioned him. "I’m surprised you haven’t left."

Hazel had been flipping through his collection, touching his fingers to dried dandelion florets. "I thought I might rest for a while. I’ve been traipsing too much in the wilderness."

Gat didn’t mind. He’d been pleased to see him, but he did think back to what Hazel was trying to accomplish. Knowing the truth of Hazel’s situation made all his actions make greater sense.

Hazel had not yet reapplied his human illusion, which Gat had assumed was just part of his "resting." He’d taken off his tunic, a dressy garment in blues and greens that, rather than cut straight across the knees, was cut from one side and draped down, a styling reminiscent of leaves. Even the sleeves, flaring out at the elbows, were cut to resemble those or bird’s wings. He’d folded it with the sash from around his waist into his bag. The ivory undershirt he wore gleamed in the light when he moved. Hazel had explained they were formal clothes, down to his cloak and the blade he carried, and the thought of being banished with it made even Gat wince.

 

\---

 

It was early evening, the house washed in golden light. Gat lay in his bed, awake but drifting between sleep and consciousness. He had dressed down for the evening, in just his undershirt and trousers.

Hazel had his mirror again, and as he admired his reflection, the light refracted and flashed, making Gat open his eyes. He sat up, adjusting his position on the bed. Hazel often looked into the mirror, and Gat wondered what he was trying to see. "You look fine."

Hazel set the mirror down with a certain care. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah."

A few moments passed in silence, then Hazel stood and came to the side of his bed. His stride was slow, graceful. Hazel smiled and Gat held his breath. "How is your hand?" Gat asked.

Hazel kneeled, showed it to him. "Much better." 

Gat reached out and caressed the gauze, and then up along the skin of Hazel’s fingers. Hazel took his other hand in his, his thumb running along his knuckles.

"May I kiss you?" 

Gat looked at him, felt the continuing brush of Hazel's thumb over his hand. Drawn to him, he answered.

"Okay."

Hazel laughed, but then reached up and pressed his lips against Gat’s, his hands coming up to run through his hair. Hazel moved onto the bed, onto Gat’s lap, and kissed him again, deeper, longer, and Gat returned it. 

Hazel pushed his hands underneath Gat’s shirt, stroking slow and lightly up his chest, the touch satisfying and warm. Gat broke their kiss and moved down to Hazel’s neck, starting beneath his ear and kissing down to his collar bone. Hazel exhaled close to his ear, and his hands slid from Hazel’s waist to his trousers.

Hazel sighed, pulled at Gat’s hair when Gat stroked his cock. He started slow, sensual, then worked up to a steady rhythm, with his other hand sliding up Hazel’s back to touch his hair, soft and cool in his fingers. Hazel pressed his face into Gat’s neck, and the way Hazel kissed, mouthed and sucked his skin, made him groan, soft and low.

Hazel came with a moan not long after, and they reluctantly let go of each other to rest, but only for a minute, for Hazel was already pushing him down onto the bed. "Lie down, please." Gat did, and Hazel moved down with him, planting kisses on his mouth, holding his head in his hands. 

Gat reached for him, cupping Hazel’s cheek in his hand. He let it fall through Hazel’s hair as Hazel moved, down the length of his body, down to his legs, where he settled himself. Hazel was beautiful and the look of desire on his face made heat curl in his stomach and in his groin as Hazel lowered his head.

\---

Long after, in the late night, they ate their dinner and talked, relaxing around the fire, blankets and pillows pulled up for comfort. Hazel elaborated his situation by Gat’s request, while telling him of other fond memories of his home.

"In the end, there are two things that must be followed, to return kindness and to protect those in your home. They were thrust upon me at a young age, and they are not all the same for everyone. Following them brought goodness, breaking them makes it like a curse. My lot seems like an easy enough observance." Hazel watched the smoke waft up and escape through the opening above them. "Until they intertwine, until someone finds out you have them, especially if they want something of yours."

So then it was a manipulation. His teacher's murder was a violation of those observances.

"In return for a favor, I had been requested to a meeting, and at the time I thought nothing of it, but..." Hazel turned back to the fire, then away into the dark. "That was the trick." It was a moment before he spoke again, Gat watching the way he pulled himself inward, and the way the fire flickered in his eyes.

"In the events following my teacher's death, I was quickly ousted by a military advancement, led by a nobleman I had quarreled with over his lust for pieces of my territory. I didn't have a chance for anything."

Gat was silent, imagining the scope of a land canopied by earth and mountains. Hazel, forlorn, stared at the far wall. 

"I don't think I have ever spoken of it before," Hazel said, his voice soft. He had reached for a blanket during the conversation to occupy his fidgeting hands.

"I'm sorry."

"But I'm still investigating the Doors." Hazel suddenly tilted his head, his brow furrowing, like he was trying to puzzle or remember something. "There's usually a weakness in those sorts of spells."

Gat breathed in, thinking of how to word what he was thinking, what he felt he needed to tell him, hearing the stories he'd told. "Hazel."

"What?" Hazel's eyes were wide. 

"Have you thought that...maybe, you can't?"

"Can't what?" His lips pulled into a tense smile.

"That," Gat paused, thought carefully how to word it, unable to look away or turn back now. He spoke slow and steady. He feared how hard this would be. "That maybe, it isn't possible to go back."

Hazel blinked. "Excuse me?"

He expected Hazel to become angry, but the situation was still difficult. "Have you ever seen anyone return? In all your time?"

"They're not me."

"I don't know much, but from what you've said to me, it seems that these sentences aren't something you can escape from. How long have you been here?" The last question was even a little painful for him.

Hazel's smile was gone, and he leaned forward. The temperature in the room spiraled down. "No, no, you don't know--"

"It's not that I don't want you to be able to return. It would be a great thing if it could be, but I don't want you to be deluded by yourself. If someone knew your weaknesses, your torment would be in their interest."

Hazel was so still Gat wasn't sure if he was even breathing. His face contorted into a scowl, twitching from the attempt to control it. Hazel stood, and Gat followed, but Hazel surged right up to him. "How dare you." He jabbed a shaking finger at Gat's chest. His voice had grown quiet, but his words were harsh. "I don't want to hear that from a human man who avoids his problems when he has every chance in the world to fix them."

The accusation caught Gat off guard, and he rose to his own defense. "I at least understand when I’ve hit an impasse."

Hazel stepped back, his chest heaving. "I—I’m going."

"Where?"

"Away." Hazel snatched his things, his mirror, his bag by the bed, and tore out the door, leaving Gat behind.

The whirlwind was gone and Gat still stood. He did nothing but calm his heart, letting himself fall back onto the bed. He should have expected the discussion to turn sour, and he did, but he didn’t expect the way he felt. The rock in his gut, a tinge of helplessness.

He did his best to sleep, but it failed, their argument echoing in his ears, him and his neighbors’ resurfacing at Hazel’s retort. He couldn’t even eat, for all the food in his pack had suddenly staled.

\----

Hazel stormed off, pushed himself to the edge of town, to stands of birch trees whose roots lay submerged in shallow water. The ground was moist, and the smell of the soil and flowers and stagnant pools assaulted him as he marched into the water. Fallen leaves scattered in his wake, shaken by the ripples and waves, and he grabbed the first thing he found in his bag and flung it into the landscape. The plum smacked a tree trunk and splashed off somewhere in the dark, tree bark flaking off in the aftermath.

"You--knew," Hazel said through gritted teeth, to no one. He grabbed another plum.

It didn’t matter. It never mattered. Deep, deep down, he must have known. It was why the fox laughed at him, why the merfolk would say nothing. The thought was the power behind another swing, the fruit flying out into the open pools, missing the tree. 

"Bastard!"

Each Door he found-- he didn’t have much expectation, but if he persisted—something had to change if he persisted; a new way in, a relinquishment, a magical lapse in whatever curse followed him. Maybe Fate would be kind to a deceived soul. But he had to come to that realization that nothing he did would change anything. He was throwing himself upon a wall of stone and iron.

His bread rations sailed into the water with a sad, soggy splash.

He cursed himself, for not realizing anything until it was too late, to allow himself to be fooled, that his torment was entertainment for everyone else. This was worse than death, and that bastard knew it. But he was too proud to die. 

He closed his damaged hand around the sharp edges of the circlet he still kept. The pain made him gasp but he still flung it out into the water, glinting silver in the moonlight.

Hazel fell back, feeling the cold water seep into his clothes, his anger dissipating, leaving him with only the threat of tears. 

He lay there for some time, his mind wandering to all the places he’d been. He thought of his teacher, whom he had given no proper farewell, on the assumption that he’d be able to kill that man who murdered him. He was awful.

He thought back, his teacher’s words resounding in him.

_"I want you to know that should anything happen, it is only fate coming to pass. It won’t be the end."_

He should have listened more carefully.

He shouldn’t have said the things he said about Gat. He was the one person that took the time, had the patience, to try and understand—

Hazel sat up. Gat took the time.

The water rippled around him, crickets sang in the bushes. He knew what he needed to do.

\-----

Gat was tugged awake by the feeling of his hair being pulled, the light touch of hands. A little startled, he moved to sit up, and arms enveloped him.

"I’m sorry," Hazel said, the words coming out thick. "I was angry and I shouldn’t have said those things." 

Relief was the first thing Gat felt, the knot in his stomach easing. He touched Hazel’s hands, and Hazel held onto his, squeezing them. He gazed at the space between his legs where he sat, too tired to think. Should he still be upset? He didn't feel it. The realization of never returning home was a hard thing to swallow.

"I was wrong, I’m so sorry."

Gat let himself be guided back down, his head resting in Hazel’s lap.

"You were right," Hazel said. 

The silence returned, heavy with things unspoken. Gat recognized the pressure of a comb running through his hair. Gat relaxed under the touch of Hazel's thin fingers. The comb would slide through and Hazel would follow in the larger sections with his hand, long strokes from scalp to the ends. It lulled him toward sleep again.

Hazel’s hands were shaking.

"Are you all right?" Gat asked, his voice rough with sleep. 

The comb moved down his hair, felt Hazel's hands stroke the locks. "Yes." Gat didn't believe it, with how flat it sounded, but he didn't say it. 

"Are you sure?"

"I just hurt my hand," Hazel said quickly.

Gat wanted to ask, but he left it alone. He let the silence reign for a little while longer.

"Maybe you're just under a time limit."

Hazel pulled his hair in retaliation, the short tug jolting him awake again. 

"Don't say things like that now." The wavering breathiness made him think Hazel was laughing. He hoped he was.

"Sorry."

Hazel leaned over him. Gat saw the light dim from behind his eyelids, and locks of hair tickled his forehead. His voice was close, intimate. "No, I think you're right. No one would fight for me in my stead, if it could be reversed."

He was relieved Hazel had grown to accept the possibility. Freeing himself of it would allow him to heal. Gat opened his eyes. Hazel looked tired.

"You had a point. I have been avoidant." He had thought more than once of going back, played out every scenario, in the hours of the night.

"It was still wrong of me to say." Hazel went back to work on Gat’s hair.

"I’ll go back soon," Gat said.

Hazel said nothing, and the morning passed pleasantly.

 

\----

 

The next day, Hazel decided to go to one last Door. This was an old, large town. A spring lay nearby, and if he was sure of where he was in relation to what lay beneath his feet, he’d know where to find it.

It would be the last time. At least for now. In the way of relationships with the Doors. Hazel steeled himself, preparing to send off his respects to his teacher. He had been waiting to return, but so much time had passed already with little progress. 

Gat was packing food rations, each into their own containers. Dried meats, fruits, breads, beans. Much more colorful, sustaining, and varying than what Hazel held in his bag, now slung across his shoulder, and in his own hands.

Hazel owed him, owed him something, no matter how many times he could try and return the favor. The gestures fell flat in comparison to how Hazel felt. He struggled with his words, wishing to sound as sure as possible.

"I’m going to go."

Gat turned. "Where?"

"To a Door. There’s one here--it’s the last one." Gat had raised an eyebrow and Hazel felt he had to defend himself. "And I--just have to go." Any further explanation died on his tongue, his chest tight with his thoughts.

Hazel stepped closer, holding out his hands. Gat stood, and Hazel placed a second bag in his hands. "Take these." He didn’t meet Gat’s eyes, only staring at the bag, boring into the worn leather. "Trade them, do something with them. I don’t have much, but you have done much for me. You’re a better and more beautiful man than I."

Gat said nothing. He opened it with unneeded caution, looked inside. The curve of the circlet was visible, reflecting the sunlight from the window. Below it lay a few bracelets and careful collections of rocks and shells. "Are you sure?"

"Please." He hadn’t worn it in a long time, and even if he could make it back, he could get another. It was his earrings, his cuffs, that he loved dearly enough to keep, still looked at them with fondness.

He laid a hand on Gat’s arm and smiled before he turned to leave, and was glad when he made to the river just outside of the town. Flowers grew in patches along the bank, the gentle sounds of the river clashing with the tumultuous thoughts in his head. He stood still, gathering himself.

"Hazel."

Hazel whirled around, swallowing the pressure in his chest. "Why are you following me?"

"Where’s the Door?"

Hazel regretted giving Gat anything. He could have left with Gat not having known any better, it would have just been another day that Hazel chose to wander off. The memory of their intimacy struck him. This wouldn’t have happened any other way. A mistake. He refrained from dropping his head in his hands.

"If it’s there," Gat gestured to the woods down across the river, "the townspeople told me there’s a swamp there. You’ll need a canoe."

"I realize that." He looked up at Gat, another head and shoulders taller than him. "I don’t need help."

"As a friend, a companion, I’ll go if you’ll have me. Think clearly, those places are dangerous alone."

Hazel, at a loss, looked away, heat in his cheeks. It would be foolish, and Gat would not budge. He sighed. "All right."

 

\---

 

Hazel didn't have much trouble venturing through the groves and brush amongst the pools of standing water. The afternoon light filtered through the sparse canopy, and the waters and flowers glittered. It was beautiful, the scenery helping the crushing feeling in his chest. Gat followed behind him, a dugout canoe in tow.

He didn't know what he was going to do after this. He'd been thinking about a supposed future for a whole day, a future wildly different than the one he'd imagined when he'd been sure he could go home. The old future was something he couldn't shake, and should he happen to see any of the men who put him here, he would still kill them, for his teacher if nothing else. He'd hoped they would, but it hadn't happened in all the time he was here.

He did his best to not pick any of the foliage he passed by. It would slow him down, and in any case, his pack was full, and he'd already had the urge to burn all of the flowers he'd been keeping.

The old fringes of magic that emanated from the Doors he could still feel, and he let it guide him now as he did so many times before. It was something that the Doors always did, but it had felt like his whole life teased him from the safety of the darkness.

He did not think of Gat, or rather, told himself not to, for it added to the burden already on his heart. Hazel's life was long compared to any human's, and that thought alone made him uneasy.

He watched his feet as he trudged through the water, splashing and watching the ripples carry the grass and foliage away like boats and buoys on a stormy sea. The water had slowly been rising, the trees growing thinner and taller.

The swamp opened up before them and it was here they boarded the canoe, Gat looking fatigued, but he pressed on without saying anything, pushing them off into the water with his long paddle.

Hazel told Gat where to go, and they maneuvered through the trees with their long, gnarled roots and down a stream. The sun still shone through the leaves, and Hazel gazed at a group of budding water lily pads they brushed on their way down the flat, slow stream.

"Have you figured out what you're going to do?" Gat asked.

The question burned and Hazel frowned, thankful Gat was behind him. "I don’t know." He said it reluctantly, forcing the truth out, where so easily he can place lies. A part of him still wanted to.

Gat didn't respond. There was only the sound of his paddle moving in the water.

He didn't expect to see Gat again, his only idea after this stop was to keep walking until he found another town he didn't mind lingering in. Asking himself why Gat had to follow him, the implications may have been the same as when Hazel sought Gat out that one night. Those implications scared him, but he would never say it.

Eventually they found the area of the Door. It was void of trees, a rocky area in the center, boulders and stone slabs protruding from the dark water. Gold and green grasses filled the crevices and parts of the shallow water near the land. The was sky open and clear above them. 

Hazel wasted no time. He lept out of the canoe, almost capsizing it in his wake. Gat remained in the boat, watching with a sense of exasperation. The water came to his hips, and he waded out to the rocks. Gat paddled closer, taking in their surroundings, the way the tall trees a distance away leaned over the water, the remnants of civilization, the lack of clarity in the water, and he thought of snakes, and creatures with the strength to overturn a canoe and drown them.

Hazel had stopped in front of a particular structure. Gat saw it as a collapsed cave, mostly underwater. Hazel never had the intention of trying to return to his people when he said he wanted to come here. 

Hazel lowered his head, his arms adhering to his sides. Gat kept a respectable distance. Hazel's cloak flared out in the water like a wilted iris, not completely submerged. It was very quiet, and their surroundings felt very old, destroyed by floods long ago.

He sat in the canoe for a long time. Hazel had gone down on his knees, his back looking as though it was being crushed beneath an invisible weight. He couldn't see Hazel's face. Gat lowered his gaze to the paddle in his hands, and remained there too for a time. Nightfall was on its way. It wouldn't be safe to be here at night.

Reluctant, he went to Hazel, and when the canoe stilled, he reached out and touched Hazel's shoulder. 

Hazel tensed, but didn't turn around.

"It'll be dark soon."

He was quiet still. It took a moment for Hazel to speak. "That's fine." He stood up, slow and careful. Gat didn't remove his hand. "I ran out of things to say, anyway."

Gat helped Hazel back into the canoe, holding it steady.

Hazel didn't speak the whole way back. The one time Gat saw his face, it was a neutral, controlled expression, but the strain was evident in his eyes.

Hazel didn't speak when they bathed, or when they returned to their temporary house. It was already night, so Gat grabbed some of the stew that simmered on the hearth at the communal kitchen late at night, and brought it back to the house. They ate in silence, and for once the silence was starting to make him worry. 

"Thank you," Hazel said after he finished. He was wearing an extra tunic, of human design, its color a deep burgundy.

"Do you want any more?" Gat asked, relieved that Hazel was speaking.

"No, I'm fine."

They stopped talking again, the crackling of the fire punctuating the silence.

"Thank you," Hazel said again. "For coming with me."

Gat gazed into his bowl. "Well, with the way things have been the last few days, I wanted to make sure you were all right."

A small huff came from Hazel, and Gat realized it was a laugh, because when he looked at Hazel he was smiling. He opened his mouth as if he were to say something else, but the words died before they were spoken. Hazel tried again. "I'll be all right." Gat didn't think that was what he had planned on saying. 

Their conversation must have triggered it, but he suddenly remembered the bag Hazel gave to him earlier. He reached over to where he'd left it by the sleeping pallets and pulled it into his lap. Hazel had lost himself in the glow of the fire, not taking any notice. 

Gat moved close to him, a hand's width between them. His movement pulled Hazel back into reality, confused and concerned, eyeing the bag. Gat opened the flap and took out a smaller bag, the velvet drawstring bag that contained the enchanted opals. Hazel's eyes were wide, but he did not speak or move. Gat held the bag out to him. "You spoke so fondly of them. I thought it was strange that you would want to give them away." 

Hazel took a shaky breath. "I was thinking that they would be more useful to you."

With gentleness, Gat took Hazel's hand and placed the opals in his palm. "I don't need them."

Hazel felt the familiar fabric between his fingers, and he sighed, long, shaking with a wry smile. "And here you go, making a fool of me again. I can't do anything with you." 

Gat placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t shaken off.

Hazel still focused on the opals, his tired eyes looked glassy beneath his long lashes. He closed his fingers around the bag, clutching it tight. "I was going to leave, after I found the Door."

Gat was quiet. He did his best not to frown. "Are you still?" 

Hazel's lips pressed into a tense line. He shook his head, barely at first, but stronger a second time. It wasn't a definite answer. Gat had to admit he would be sad if Hazel left. He'd grown fond of his company, and it was difficult to think of not seeing him again.

"I'm tired," Hazel said instead, moving to arrange the blankets and fur on one of the pallets.

"All right," Gat said. He doused the flame and prepared for bed.

Hours later, when Gat lay almost asleep, the wood from the frame of the other pallet creaked, pulling him a little farther from sleep, but not long after the sound he felt Hazel slip in next to him. Gat adjusted to accommodate him as Hazel's hands came up to stroke his hair and then down to his shoulders. Gat draped an arm over Hazel's waist, letting him push in closer, and Hazel rested his head just under Gat’s. A long time had passed since he held someone so close like he did now, the rise and fall of Hazel’s breathing against his body a comfort felt unconsciously.

Neither said anything, and they remained that way the rest of the night, Gat watching the shadows on the walls cast by the bright moon, his heart in his throat.

 

\------

 

Morning came, and Hazel, of Salmon’s Run, stood underneath a tall oak tree outside the impressive town of Black-Water alone, disguised as a human common man. Across his shoulder was a bag bursting with supplies, dried meats, fish, eggs and fruits, complete with a stack of sweet corn cakes. 

A gentle breeze brought a refreshing coolness, as he debated the paths ahead of him, stretching beyond the horizon between the clusters of trees.

Too deep in thinking of nothing, he missed the sounds of a packhorse approaching. Gat touched his shoulder, a familiar softness. "We meet again," Hazel said in jest. Gat offered his other hand, and in it was a yellow orchid.

Moved, Hazel took it, the cheery color bringing a grin to his sullen features. He twirled the flower in his fingers, then turned to Gat, who stood close and patient. The gentleness in his brown eyes choked him as he tried to speak. "I’m not sure what to do now," he whispered.

"Whatever you want," Gat said. "Home will eventually follow."

Hazel looked out at the road, to the flower still in his hand, to the horse. "Then," he met Gat’s eyes again, "is there enough room in your party for another?"

Gat smiled, and Hazel’s heart ached. "Always."


End file.
